In Pieces
by rikkucheerio
Summary: A series of fics that deal with Bobby and Andy's relationship and the aftermath of 'Untethered'. These are mostly all based on writing prompts, which are all at the top of the page.
1. Bender

_Have you ever woken up in the morning and not remembered what you did the night before? (Prompt: August '07)_

His arm was asleep from the shoulder down. That was the first thing he noticed. The second? No matter how hard he pressed his face into the pillow, it still wasn't dark enough. He hadn't been this hungover since... Bobby frowned into the pillow, realizing it was only a month ago. Slowly, he sat up, swinging his legs down from the couch. He scrubbed his hands over his face, letting his fingertips linger on his eyes. It was never good when he woke up on the couch, especially since he couldn't remember the previous night. Pulling the blanket down from the back of the couch, he wrapped it around his shoulders in lieu of finding an actual sweatshirt. He stood up slowly, bracing a hand on the arm rest as he closed his eyes against the vertigo. Bobby shuffled into the kitchen, but paused beside the counter. Andy's keys were missing, though he knew she had the day off. Had she left last night?

"You're awake," Andy said from behind him. Her voice was cold, her words clipped. She clearly was not inviting conversation.

Bobby wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he turned around to face her and replied, "Yeah... I uh, just woke up. Where were you?"

"I had a doctor's appointment, " she said curtly, crossing her arms over her belly, "You knew that."

"I did? When did you tell me? Why didn't you wake me up?" Bobby rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry I missed another one."

Andy sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. "God dammit, Bobby..." she trailed off, dropping her graze to the floor. She didn't look up when she started speaking again. Her voice had lost the icy edge to it, instead becoming soft and shaky. "You don't remember anything that happened last night, do you?"

"No," he said, leaning a little to meet her eyes. The movement started the room spinning again and he slowly straightened up, giving up on his trademark questioning style. "So why don't you help me out, huh?" he added.

"You don't care, do you? About anything? If you hadn't been so typically drunk last night, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We would't have," her voice cracked, prompting her to pause. She sucked in a breath and continued, "We wouldn't have fought last night. Bobby, I... I didn't sleep at all last night because I was laying awake thinking."

Andy finally looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I'm too tired to keep fighting with you. You don't care about me, you don't care about Grace and you certainly don't care about yourself." She paused again, looking back down at the floor as she started to cry. "I think you should leave."

"What?" he blurted out, unable to come up with anything else. He stared at her like a deer in headlights, desperately searching his memory for some hint as to what happened last night. He shook his head, ignoring the nausea that came with it, and closed the space between them. He started to put his arms around her when she stopped him, holding her hands up.

"Bobby... don't..." she said, looking down at the floor again, letting her hands drop.

"Whatever I did, I'm sor-"

"No, you're not!" she shouted, cutting him off. "You keep saying that, over and over and over and I stupidly forgive you every time! But you don't mean it. You never do. I don't think you ever did."

He took a step back from her. "Yes, I am. I am sorry. Whatever I did or said, I didn't mean it," he replied.

"Really? Bobby, are you even taking your meds anymore? Or how about going to see Skoda?" she asked, her words becoming clipped again as the anger from the night before started to creep back into her voice. She pressed a hand into the small of her back, looking up at him, waiting for an answer.

It was his turn to look at the floor. All he could do was shake his head.

"Right. You're not even trying to help yourself," she said before pausing. Angry tears dripped down her cheeks, but she refused to let herself cry anymore, even as her voice caught in her throat. "I have to think about the baby. I have to put her first. There's no way I can raise a child with you," she finished, swiping quickly at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

He nodded. He knew she was right and he didn't see any point in trying to change her mind. This had been long overdue. No matter how badly he wanted to hug her right now, it wouldn't help anything. Everything she had said was true and anything he could say now would just be delaying things more.

Andy spoke softly, "I think... you should be out by tonight. Maybe... if you get some help... we can try this again later." She slipped the engagement ring from her finger and gently set it on the counter. She glanced up at him sadly and turned around, going into the nursery. She closed the door softly, locking it behind her.

Bobby didn't move from his spot. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he stared at the floor. He wasn't even sure what had just happened, it wasn't registering to him. Maybe the hangover was to blame. No... of course it was. But only partly. As he stood in the kitchen, he wished he could cry or show some kind of emotion. All that was there was numbness.


	2. Alive

_How can you say you've failed when you're still alive? (Prompt 68 January)_

Being alive isn't necessarily a good thing. Of course... that depends on who you ask. Talk to an optimist, someone who vomits rainbows, and they'll tell you there is nothing worse than being dead. That's the whole point of the question, isn't it? To get you to think about the ultimate failure? Well there's more to being alive than just that perpetual, automatic exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. But to see what life isn't, you have to know what life is-- the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death. By that definition, as everyone knows, a plant is just as alive as a man.

But what about the quality of life? Why do we bother with DNR's and fighting over cases like Terry Schiavo's? Isn't the purpose of life to make it as fulfilling and as enriching as you possibly can? When do we stop and ask "Why are we forcing this person to stay alive when they can't enjoy what life has to offer?" Is it for purely selfish reasons, as those involved aren't able to let go? If this person's quality of life has reached such a deplorable level, why isn't it okay to die?

I used to think suicide was the ultimate act of selfishness. You take something away from everyone who ever cared about you simply to put an end on your pain. I'm not so sure I think that anymore. Does that quality of life standard only apply to those who have ceased to be able to function beyond a basic level?

At some point, you hit bottom. Everything you once cared about and lived for have been stripped from your life. And where does that leave you? The love of your life is gone, your home is gone, your job is gone, your family is gone. You have nothing. You've reached that point where you're starting to wonder if suicide really is that selfish. When everything that made life enjoyable has been taken away, who would be left to care if you removed yourself? What happens when you're so depressed, death is starting to look like the better option? You start asking yourself if the impossible climb out of the dark is worth the struggle. How do you know when to stop and let go?

Failure is far more broad than just whether or not you've accomplished a particular goal. It's about the people in your life. You can fail them just as easily as you can fail yourself. So having carried a wave of destruction behind you, watching relationships fall apart and job opportunities dry up, you realize you've failed in every aspect of life. She's now your ex-fiance, you haven't been to work in months, your finances are dwindling... but you're still alive. How is that not failure? How do you look at being alive as an accomplishment when your entire body hurts so much you can't breathe?

Sometimes... I wish someone would hug me and tell me I can go to sleep now.


	3. Going Home

Bobby stood outside what used to be his apartment door with his key out. He fingered the points on the key as he chewed on his lip. It had occurred to him that Andy could have changed the locks after she'd kicked him out on Friday. Sliding the key into the lock, he let out a soft breath as it turned easily. Hesitantly, he opened the door and stepped inside. He was unsure as to how Andy would react to him being there. A small part of him hoped, however remote a possibility as it was, that she wasn't there. He knew she didn't have anywhere to be this weekend, except dinner with her parents for Easter. If she even decided to go.

He closed the door softly behind him and started to move towards the hall when Andy's head popped up over the armrest of the couch. He froze in his tracks, not sure what to do and feeling very much like a deer in headlights. His heart pound in his chest but he was afraid to say anything to her.

Slowly, she got up from the couch and went over to him. She stood in front of him, keeping a safe distance between them. Looking up at him with tears in her eyes, she asked, "You're real?" Her voice was barely above a whisper and it was hoarse, probably from crying all day yesterday.

All he could do was nod, still afraid of making any wrong moves. At this point, he had no idea what a wrong move might be, but he felt like any move he could make would be a wrong one.

The tears started to fall freely from Andy's eyes as she closed the space between them, pressing herself against him as closely as she could. He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a bear hug, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He wanted nothing more than to be here with her, like they were now. This was where he belonged. She fit perfectly against his body like the other half of a yin yang.

She pulled back slightly and looked up at him again, swiping once at her eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt she was wearing. "Have you gotten help?" she asked, not masking the hope in her voice.

"No," he answered, his voice catching in his throat.

This started her crying again, harder than before, and she dropped her head to his chest. She stood, sobbing uncontrollably against him for a long while. Her world was falling down around her and she was helpless to stop it. Finally, she looked up at him, pleading with her eyes, and asked, "Why won't you? I don't... Bobby, I don't understand why you won't! I thought you wanted this... me." She stopped and looked down at the floor, suddenly realizing what the problem must be. "Is it my fault? Are you doing this to get away from me?"

He pulled back and leaned over, catching her eyes with his. "No. Andy, it's not your fault," he answered firmly, despite holding back tears of his own.

"Then why..." she stopped and shook her head, still looking down. Putting both hands on her belly, she added softly, "We need you. We need you to get better so you can come home. If not for yourself, Bobby, then for Gracie and me."

He stayed quiet, just watching her. His timing was terrible. He realized there were eleven weeks or less until the baby came and he wanted to be there for it. He wanted to be there for Andy. But talking about his problems scared him far more than the thought of becoming a father ever did. He'd have to talk about and think about everything that happened at Tates, he'd have to deal with the PTSD and the depression, he'd have to reexamine his alcoholism, and now, he'd have to talk about his failed relationship. And what if it ended up being all for nothing? What if this breakup is what she needs to finally realize there are far better men in the world? His pain was overwhelming him.

"I uh... just came for some of my clothes," he mumbled. He stepped around her and went down the hall to the bedroom. Andy followed him and sat on the bed, watching him pull a suitcase from his closet. He started putting clothes into it, trying not to look her in the eyes.

"Where are you staying?" she asked softly.

He stopped folding a shirt and looked at her. "With Megan Wheeler."

She made a face and somehow managed to look even more unhappy.

"There's nothing between us," he added, though he found himself holding back a remark about how that shouldn't matter since they were no longer a couple. "I'm staying with Lewis on Monday."

"Okay," she responded. "I want to know where you are... in case something happens."

He nodded and went back to putting his clothes in the suitcase. He was nearly done when she broke the silence again, "Bobby... stay here tonight." It wasn't a question and he knew it had been hard for her to say. "So we can both get some sleep," she added, letting the hope from earlier give her words a bit of color.

Closing the suitcase, he put it on the floor by the bedroom door and then stood in front of her. He knew he should say no, that she was right to kick him out in the first place. Nothing had changed since then and the right thing to do would be to go back to Wheeler's place. He knew Andy was thinking the same thing, but he could easily see how badly she missed him.

"Just tonight," he answered, leaning down a little to rest his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes.


	4. Sophomoric Amateur

_(prompts: Sophomore & "I've got three words for him: Am. A. Tuer."- Charlie Sheen about Colin Farrell)_

"I got three words for that guy," Lewis slurred slightly, pointing his mostly empty beer bottle at the muted TV. Hours ago, he and Bobby had started a marathon of The Garage. He was draped over a well-worn recliner, his feet dangling over the arm rest. After his shop had closed for the day, he decided it would be a good idea to reconnect with his childhood friend over a few beers and hot cars. After all, what better way to help his friend forget his troubles?

"What?" Bobby asked. He glanced from the mechanic on the TV screen over to Lewis.

"Am. A. Tuer," he replied seriously.

Bobby was quiet for a moment, studying his friend's face before bursting out laughing. "That's only one word, man. You just... you just broke it up," he said, punctuating his words with laughter.

Lewis shifted in his seat, sitting up so he could face Bobby better. Setting the bottle on the end table, he held his hands out in front of him. "No, dude, it's three words," he started, moving his hands up and down as if that would help make his argument. "Am' is the first person singular of 'be'. 'A' is an article..."

"Okay, then what's 'tuer'?" Bobby asked, tilting his head.

"I don't know. The last part of 'amatuer'?"

Bobby started laughing again. "I told you it was just one word," he said around giggles.

Lewis tried to stifle his own laughs and said, "Shut up. You're drunk, too."

The laughs subsided into silence, both men lost in their thoughts. Bobby couldn't help but wonder what Andy was doing tonight. He wondered if she was working late to avoid going home to an empty apartment. He wondered if the pets would try to fill the space he had left in her life.

"So..." Lewis glanced over at Bobby, "what the hell did you do to get her to kick you out?"

"What?" Bobby asked, unsure if he'd heard his friend right.

"You said she kicked you out. Why? I mean, it can't be that bad. All ya haveta do is buy her a huge thing of flowers, get down on your knees, and beg forgiveness," Lewis said.

"No, it's... just no," Bobby replied firmly, not wanting to go into detail about his home situation. He finished the beer he had been working on and put the bottle on the table with the rest of the dead soldiers. He trusted Lewis and he probably could tell him most of the story, but it would be touching raw wounds that hadn't even started to heal yet and that wasn't something he wanted to do. He pulled a new beer from the cooler between them.

"Hey, remember that time in college when you were dating that girl... what was her name... Oh! Right, it was Carrie. The blonde? And you stood her up in favor of some research paper. Flowers worked then. This can't be much dif-"

"You really have no fucking clue, do you?" Bobby shouted, stopping Lewis mid-sentence. He got up from his spot on the couch and towered over Lewis. "This isn't anything like that! This is the rest of my life..." he trailed off, realizing what he'd just said. Without another word, he turned around and headed for the door. He stepped outside into the cold night air, slamming the door behind him. Sitting on the front step, he could think and drink in silence.


End file.
